


A Ripping Yarn

by DemiCas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bittersweet, Brothers, Crafts, Family, Ficlet, Gen, Hobbies, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiCas/pseuds/DemiCas
Summary: Sam's got a new hobby, and he's not looking forward to Dean finding out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Teen and up for language only.
> 
> Spoilers: This takes place sometime after 6.11, so if you haven't gotten that far, HERE THERE BE SPOILERS.
> 
> This is my first finished and posted Supernatural fic. Just a ficlet, no plot, just silly. I've spent way too long on it, so I'm just posting it at last to keep me from poking it with a stick from now until Doomsday.
> 
> A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own.
> 
> ETA: Realized the fic lost steam towards the end, so I edited it slightly to make it tighter. I'm not sure I took out enough, but I think it's better.

.

“Sam, what the _hell_ are you doing?”

Sam hunched his shoulders and pressed his lips in a thin line. He wasn't expecting Dean to be back so soon, and though he knew that this little scene had been coming for weeks, he'd been hoping to put it off a bit longer. Like, maybe, a decade or two.

“Sammy...”

Sam could hear the laughter building behind his brother's voice and slid down – just a little – in his seat. “I'm...knitting,” he muttered, voice flat and unencouraging. He could feel Dean's eyes boring into him, but Sam's fingers kept moving – knit, purl, knit, purl, knit purl.

As he had expected, Dean burst into a loud guffaw as he put the groceries on the counter. “Aw, that's just adorable, Samantha!” Dean said in a cloyingly sweet voice. “Are ya making doilies for Baby's seats?”

Sam yanked a little more yarn out of the working skein and re-wrapped it around his fingers to keep his tension correct. “Doilies are usually crochet, Dean,” he said, using his bored “God, even a _child_ would know that” voice, though he could feel his ears begin to burn. He didn't look up from his work. Knit, purl, knit, _purl_ , dammit!

Dean whooped out another laugh as he threw the food into the motel room's tiny half-fridge. Sam heard the clink of beer bottles behind him and relaxed minutely, though he knew his torment was far from over. Dean approached the table and started to put one beer in front of Sam, then pulled it back at the last moment. “Maybe you'd like some herb tea, instead?” Dean asked, eyes huge and innocent. “Some warm milk?”

“Fuck off, Dean,” Sam growled. He wanted to snatch the beer from his brother's hand, but both were occupied at the moment, and he didn't feel like disentangling the yarn from his left hand now that he'd got the tension perfect. “Just gimme the damn beer.”

Dean shrugged and rolled his eyes, twisted the cap off the beer, and set it next to the skein of charcoal-grey yarn Sam was working from. He pulled the other chair out and swung it around so he could sit with his arms across the back. He took a long pull of beer, eyes glued to the work in Sam's hands. Sam tried to ignore him.

“Whatcha makin'?” Dean asked at last. His voice sounded genuinely interested, but Sam wasn't about to let his guard down, and he was by _God_ not going to meet the oh-so-polite gaze he could see in his peripheral vision. “Socks,” he said shortly, frowning down at his hands.

“Mmm-hmm,” Dean murmured. He ducked his head, trying to look past or under or between Sam's fingers. “Pretty funny lookin' sock, Sammy. More like a bikini top for a doll or somethin'.” His tone was still one of curiosity, not derision, and Sam began to wonder just how awful the punchline to this little joke would be.

He risked a glance at his brother's face. Dean was smiling benevolently, eyebrows raised in encouragement. Nghhhhh... This was going to be bad. Very bad.

“I'm working two at a time,” Sam said. He dropped the yarn from the first skein and took up the working end from the second, winding it around his fingers by body memory. With his right hand he took a swig of beer, then started in on the second sock.

Dean stood and walked around the table to peer over Sam's shoulder, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Sam steeled himself for the killing stroke.

Dean watched Sam's hands for nearly a minute before speaking again. “So that's why the two circular needles, huh? Pretty clever.” He paused. “Though I think you dropped a stitch, dude.”

Sam froze, his brain doing a rapid series of double-takes. What? What? What the _hell?_ “Huh?” he finally managed.

Dean's finger pointed to place on the sock Sam had just finished working on. “You're doin' a one-by-one rib, right? Well, right there I see two purls inna row, and a couple rows down there's the knit that should be between 'em.” He straightened up and crossed his arms, looking very cool and business-like. “You wanna catch that now, Sammy, before it ladders all the way to the toe.”

Sam stared at the sock. Dean was right, dammit. He turned to look up at his brother who was now grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Dean...what the...I mean...how the hell do you _know_ this?”

Dean's grin widened, but Sam saw something – like pain or loneliness – flicker in his eyes. “Last year,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and mostly succeeding. “Lisa knitted. She taught me how. It was something to do together, in the winter, y'know, or on quiet evenings. Kept my mind off...things.” He flicked his eyes away and shrugged. “I never got totally into it, but I made a scarf, coupla' hats for Lis and Ben, and I watched her. So I know my way around.” He smirked at that and raised his eyebrows. “What about you, Sammy?”

Sam looked back at the work in his hands, not sure how he felt now. He'd been expecting a long string of frankly sexist jokes and constant ribbing about turning into a girl and a temporary re-christening as “Samantha,” but he was completely unprepared for this tiny, tantalizing glimpse into Dean's life during their year apart. A little snapshot of his brother's soul.

Sam cleared a throat that seemed a bit constricted suddenly. “Um, I, uh...Gwen taught me. Last year, you know. I mean, hunting took up most of my time then, but sometimes there were just no jobs, and I'd get restless. I needed something to _do_.” He paused. He didn't much like remembering his soulless year, no matter how many people told him “it wasn't really you,” though this memory was relatively safe. He expelled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. “So I was in the Campbell's bunker this one time, pacing around, driving everyone crazy, and Gwen had just _had_ it with me. She grabbed me and gave me some needles and said, 'Sit, boy.' And she showed me how to knit. After I got over the initial frustration and, yeah, _resistance_ , I found that it was kind of calming. It was something to do, and you get an actual _thing_ out of it, you know? So I kept at it in the downtimes and got better and after a while I settled on making socks, because everyone needs socks, right?” He looked down at his work, a ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Okay, maybe _some_ good had come out of that year. “And with my big feet, at least I know these will fit.”

Dean chuckled and slapped Sam on the shoulder. “No shit, Sasquatch,” he said with a grin. He straightened up, took another swig of beer, and pulled his chair over next to Sam's. He leaned forward and poked at the nearest ball of yarn. “Superwash merino?”

“Duh,” Sam replied, his almost-smile turning into a smirk. A knot he hadn't even noticed before began to loosen in his chest. “Gotta wash your socks, man, and acrylic is crap.”

Dean chuckled. “Learned _that_ the hard way,” he said. “Got Lis some yarn at a craft store once, nice color and all, but it was acrylic, and, _man_ , did I get a lecture for that.” Sam raised an eyebrow, and Dean waved his hands in negation. “No, no, she wasn't mad, but she had some _serious_ opinions about yarn, dude, and to her acrylic versus wool was like, I dunno, Barry Manilow versus Led Zepplin.” He shuddered.

Sam grinned outright as he bent back over his work and started unknitting to his dropped stitch. “Well, acrylic's not great for socks because it doesn't breathe, and it's not really that warm, but it's okay for some stuff.”

“Don't tell Lisa that,” Dean said darkly, and Sam huffed a little laugh of sympathy.

They sat in silence for a little while, Dean slowly drinking his beer and watching Sam's hands, Sam concentrating on his knitting, no longer tense – in fact strangely comfortable in spite of his brother's laser-like scrutiny.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Y'know, I could use a winter hat.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You asking?”

Dean shrugged. “Well, if you run out of socks to make, is all. I'm thinkin' black, or maybe dark blue or dark green, and 'Led Zepplin' in white.” He paused, considering. “Or a skull. A skull would be pretty awesome.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What? To go with your skateboard?”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said amiably. He leaned over to open the fridge. “Want another beer?”

“Sure,” Sam replied, downing the rest of his first bottle. “Why not.” Dean popped another cap, handed Sam the bottle, and raised his own in salute. “Cheers,” Sam said, saluting in return. “Up yours,” Dean replied with a stupid grin.

The conversation seemed over for the time being. Dean got bored watching Sam going around and around on his needles and eventually settled on one of the beds with the TV remote, though he kept the volume low as he watched, taking his time with his second beer. Sam worked on, one ear on the TV, the other vaguely registering the faint click-click-click of metal on metal. His mind began to wander a bit, drifting through so many scenes and images of Dean and himself – fighting monsters, fighting each other, drinking, playing pool, laughing. Crying, sometimes. Possessed, soulless, exhausted, injured. Dying. And now?

Now they had something new, something in common that didn't, for once, involve death, deceit, pain, or alcohol. Something creative, not destructive. Sam shook his head, bemused. Who'd have thought? He finished another round, tugging at the yarn for more slack. 

But he was not, by God, going to tell Dean about the tatting...

.

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea this was going to get goopy; I thought it would be just a lighthearted little drabble with some snark from Dean and long-suffering eyerolls from Sam. But then Dean's perpetual MANPAIN reared its disturbingly attractive head, and I was doomed. Still, all's well that ends well, I suppose, and it's nice to see the boys having a Brotherly Moment.
> 
> **Terminology and Notes for the Uninitiated**  
>  As you have no doubt surmised, I'm a knitter, and given how _stridently male_ Dean, at least, is, I thought it would be cool and amusing for the boys to pick up a “girly” hobby. Following is a list of terms that might be unfamiliar to some of you, though, honestly, if you're unfamiliar with the terms, this section will likely bore you silly.
> 
> _Knit and purl:_ the two basic stitches of knitting.
> 
> _One by one ribbing:_ a pattern of knit, purl, knit, purl, etc. It makes a very stretchy fabric and is great for socks and hats. 
> 
> _“More like a bikini top for a doll or somethin'”:_ Sam is working his socks two-at-a-time from the toe up. He hasn't gotten very far yet, so all he has are two little wedges, which might look like a miniature bikini to someone with Dean's...thought processes.
> 
> _“he didn't feel like disentangling the yarn from his left hand”:_ Sam's knitting Continental style and thus is carrying the working yarn in his left hand. I have a feeling that Dean would knit American/British, which means he'd carry the yarn in his right hand.
> 
> _Two circulars:_ A great way to do socks two-at-time, toe-up or top-down (gloves and mittens, as well!). Google for lots of free tutorials.
> 
> _“before it ladders all the way to the toe”:_ Knitting is essentially one big knot that's not finished until you pull the working yarn through the last loop. If you drop a stitch, it tends to unravel down in a column, leaving a vertical series of gaps that looks kind of like a ladder.
> 
> _Superwash Merino:_ Merino is wool from the Merino breed of sheep, and the fiber strikes a balance between softness, warmth, and durability. “Superwash” means that the wool has been treated to resist shrinkage and “felting” (when the yarn gets fuzzy and sticks to itself) when washed. Superwash Merino is very popular for socks. 
> 
> _Acrylic:_ Acrylic yarn is made from artificial fibers. It's cheap, holds color well, and is washable and quite durable. On the other hand, it doesn't breathe well, will melt if exposed to heat (don't use it for trivets!), and is not as “springy” as wool. Some acrylic yarns also “pill” badly. Some yarn snobs refuse to have anything to do with it. ;-)
> 
> _Tatting:_ Tatting is a method of making lace that uses wee shuttles and fine thread. I do not do this.


End file.
